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Why Ghosts Are Green – read by the Scottish Storyteller

A collaboration with my partner, The Weirdnet. This is his recording of one of my poems, which will most likely feature in the new book!

Why Ghosts are Green

I feel the anger
and it’s new –
a burning,
seething
nausea.
I turn it inwards.
We are the nameless,
we watch.
We are the speechless,
the lost.
We skulk in the shadows
and watch you
in the light.
You don’t even know.

You’re muscle, tendon,
bone and skin.
You’re eyeballs,
toenails, breath and sin.
We watch.
We want it.
We need it to be real.
We summon up strength
(can one be strong
with no body?)
We long to touch.
We’d kill
to touch.

We float by,
overlapping in layers
because this world is too small.
There’s too many
dearly departed.
Oh, how quickly
you forget!
How you waste your gift.
How you anger us.
We’d kill
to hurt.

The pleasure of ending
one’s existence
is unknown to us.
We cannot poison,
for we cannot drink.
We cannot stab
for we cannot bleed.
We cannot suffocate
for we need not breathe.
I watch him –
a boy, holding his sister’s hand.
Barely hanging on,
just loosely holding.
I would squeeze tightly
I would squeeze skin
on skin
and cherish it.
You’re wasting it all.